


Longing

by helloitskrisha



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: Angst, Christine Has a Crush, Drabble, Erik Is Oblivious, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, I Tried, I just needed to get this out of my system so I could function like a normal human being, Lust, Mutual Pining, POV Second Person, Pining, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-20
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2020-09-19 04:44:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20325301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helloitskrisha/pseuds/helloitskrisha
Summary: You had always wondered how his fingers would feel against your skin. Those long, spidery digits that crafted intricate melodies on the piano. You had watched the way his graceful hands moved against the keys, gentle as a lover. Precise, controlled strokes that made the instrument sing and soar. (E/C drabble fic)





	1. Longing

You had always wondered how his fingers would feel against your skin. Those long, spidery digits that crafted intricate melodies on the piano. You had watched the way his graceful hands moved against the keys, gentle as a lover. Precise, controlled strokes that made the instrument sing and soar.

So consumed was he in his compositions that he had not even noticed how closely you were watching him. Try as you may, you could no longer ignore the growing intensity of your need. You felt the warmth pool in your belly as you watched his every muscle flex and relax in time with his song.

What you wanted, you knew he could not give.

He was your maestro, your beloved teacher. And yet, what you felt for him went far beyond propriety. You knew it the second he emerged from that mirror. You felt desire coursing through your veins as soon as your hand made contact with his, as soon as you realized that your angel was nothing but a man.

Was it mere curiosity that drew you to plunge into this world of unending night? Even as every fiber of your being recognized the danger, you followed him into the darkness. You let him sing to you, touch you, tempt you. You let him draw out the secret desires of your flesh.

And now—oh, how you yearned for his touch again!

The feel of his gloved fingers on your waist had once been enough to send you reeling. Now, you longed for so much more.

You imagined yourself beckoning him to your side, letting him adorn your exposed skin with feather-light kisses. You pictured his skilled musician’s fingers playing you like one of his instruments; his touch restrained as if handling something precious, but the hunger in his eyes barely concealed.

He would bow to you, worship at your feet, if you give in. You would see the way his hands tremored, the way the sweat pooled from his brow.

“_Christine_,” he would plead, love and desire spilling from his dulcet tone. You would let the warmth of his voice embrace you, let his music fill and fulfill you. It was the very same voice that seeped into your dreams every night, that heavenly voice which permeated your every fantasy.

He would whisper sweet nothings in your ear, beckon you to lower your defenses. He would promise you the world if it meant that you would never leave his side again.

You would see the reverence in his eyes at the sight of your naked form. You would look down, bashfully at first, but he would pull you close to him and let you feel the proof of his arousal.

He would place his hand between your thighs, curling two of his fingers inside you, circling that spot that always made you squirm. He would bend you down and spread your legs further apart. You would hear his ragged breathing, feel his struggle to maintain control.

And you would let him take you, ravish you until the ache between your legs subsides. You would let him pleasure you, let him thrill and delight and satisfy you.

He would be your undoing and you would be his.

Yet you knew that the bliss would not last. The night will soon make way for daylight, and you will have to return to the land of the living. Back to that seemingly distant world beyond his orphic lair, beyond his underground lake, beyond the mirror in your dressing room. Back to normalcy and propriety and decency.

Back to longing.


	2. Worship

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going through a bad bout of writer’s block so I challenged myself to write a follow-up to this ficlet but written in Erik’s POV. So here ya go… XD

You felt her watching you, her gaze igniting a fire that you had been fighting to quell. For a long time, you dreamed of her finally seeing you as you are. Not as a malevolent Phantom or a distant Angel. Not a nameless Voice behind a dressing room mirror… but as a man—a man who loves and adores and _desires_.

And oh, how deeply you desire her!

For no woman has ever been so beautiful, so radiant, so _perfect_ in your eyes. She is art itself, with a voice that can make the angels weep and delicate features that seemed to have been sculpted by the heavens.

She is divine. Everything sacred and blessed and precious on this cruel earth. You would write her a million psalms, build a temple in her name. And none of it would be enough to wash the stains of sin on your hands, the unclean thoughts that cloud your mind as you look upon her.

You have watched her, your muse. Watched her from behind that mirror as she sang to you—_only_ to you! Her fingers outstretched, her gaze fixed upward as if waiting for her Angel to descend from the sky. You longed to reveal yourself then, to wrap your arms around her, worship her the way a goddess deserved to be venerated.

In your mind, every last damned article of clothing shielding her from your hungry eyes had already been stripped away. She would welcome you into her arms, smile at you the way a wife smiles at her husband. And you would kiss her, fervently, reverently, in every way you knew she deserved. And you would take her there on her vanity, watch her lips part in a silent moan as you slip your eager length into her soft, warm core.

But you could not bear it, could not bear the rejection that was sure to come.

The world you knew was cruel, relentless in its fear and hatred of you. She would never allow a horrid corpse to be near her, let alone touch her. Your own mother couldn’t look past your face. How could you imagine Christine being any different?

You tried to convince yourself that you were content gazing at her from afar.

But you couldn’t stay away. How could you resist that voice, that siren’s call that beckoned to you every minute and every hour of the day? How could you keep your distance as she looked into that mirror with crystalline eyes, the very picture of innocence and purity? You knew you were unworthy of her but you couldn’t resist. You emerged from that mirror, took her by the hand, and led her down, down, down into the darkness with you.

And now, here you are by the piano, trying not to notice how closely she observes you. In your peripheral vision, you see how she licks her lips, and you cannot help imagining what else her pretty mouth could do.

You picture her on her knees, looking up at you with lust in her eyes. She wets her lips knowingly, teasing you as she takes your hardened manhood in her hands.

You imagine her stroking you, slowly and gently at first, as if she were unsure that you wanted her to continue. But then you look at her, wanting, _pleading_, like a starving man in front of a feast; she quickens her pace as your breathing grows more ragged.

Soon, her lips claim your hardness, licking and sucking at the sensitive flesh. And you cannot stop yourself from bucking your hips against her, watching her gasp in surprise as you thrust the whole of your unforgiving length into her mouth. She moans for you and the sound sends shocks of pleasure spiking through your body.

“_Mine_,” you growl as you come undone, as you fill her with your desire, “you are all mine, Christine.”

She takes all of it, swallowing and then licking what was left on her lips. Her smile lights up the room, brighter than any flame from any candle.

“_And you are mine, Erik_.”

You cannot stop your tears from falling, cannot begin to express your gratitude, your reverence to your savior.

But something brings you back to reality. A sour note rings from the blasted instrument you were playing, a discordant tone warning you from getting lost in your desires.

You knew that this dream could never be. This is not a child’s fairytale; no kiss can turn a beast into a man.

And you quickly stand from the piano and watch as she snaps to attention as if being freed from a trance.

It is only your music, only your melodies that she loves….

And you take her back through the lake, back above to her dressing room. You turn your back, not bothering to listen to her goodbyes. Even as it pains your heart, you ignore that tinge of disappointment that you thought you saw in her eyes.

To your solitary lair, you return. To the place that had become your sanctuary from the outside world but now felt as constricting as a cage. It felt colder now without her.

You long, yearn for what can never be. And you weep, cursing whatever cruel gods created a monster such as you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know that was sad huhu. But when I need another writing challenge, I *might* write a part 3 with a much happier ending hahaha.


	3. Crescendo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This final chapter is dedicated to Mazen who supported this work from the very beginning and was always asking for a happy ending for these two hehe :)

You waited for him to come to you again. Every day, you would stand in front of your dressing room mirror and call for him, pleading, _begging _for him to return to you. Thoughts of him followed you throughout the day and seeped into your dreams every night.

In moments of despair, you would look up to the sky, rosary in hand, and ask the Almighty to bring your beloved teacher back into your arms.

Your prayers were never answered. And you wondered if your Angel of Music had abandoned you for good.

How you longed for his company, the feel of his hand on yours as he led you down into his domain, the tenderness in his gaze as you followed him. You yearned to once again hear his deep, melodic baritone—the dulcet voice that thrilled and delighted you.

Yes, you missed his music, the songs that seemed to emanate from every fiber of his being. Through his graceful, sensual hands. In the fluid way he walks and moves. Even when he’s only speaking, there is always a melody, a harmonious tone that was so real, so vivid that you could almost see it, _touch it_.

But more than anything, you missed the man you had come to know. Your maestro who was always there to comfort you whenever you were down, who helped you master all the challenging arias, who never gave up on you, who brought out the fire that had ignited in your soul.

You knew that you could never be without him. So, you decided to stop waiting.

Upon finding a way to open the mirror, you did not hesitate to venture into the darkness that had once frightened you. No longer were you the meek girl you had been, the girl who dreamed of princes and knights in shining armor.

You would come to him now as a woman.

He had left the boat in its usual place at the dock and you wondered if he meant for you to find it, to venture into the mirror and seek him out. Feeling a flicker of hope at this realization, you moved forward.

You heard him before you saw him.

His voice and his music echoed through the lair, enticing you, beckoning to you and _only you_.

A song of passion and seduction and barely restrained lust. It seeped into your skin, reverberating down into your spine and settling into the pit of your stomach. You felt every beat, every note thrumming within you, _inside you_, moving faster and faster until you lose yourself to the sensation.

Fear and elation blended in your heart as you felt your body once again responding to his song, his mating call. You watched him, seemingly absorbed in his composition. His eyes were closed, mouth slightly agape, body moving in time with the music.

And you cannot help but imagine your body moving in time with his, twisting, writhing atop the piano as he thrusts his hardened manhood inside you. Harder and faster as the song grows louder and wilder.

You push away your wanton thoughts when you see that he noticed you. He heard you coming closer and he stopped, eyes wide (with horror or with lust, you couldn’t tell).

But he stood and he walked to you, slowly but with intent. “Forgive me. I never meant for you to hear that, Christine.”

You search his gaze for answers but he has kept his expression as blank as possible. So different from the passion and frustration and longing you had just heard from his organ.

Had it all been in your head? Had he never wanted you at all?

No matter the outcome, you were determined to learn the truth.

“Erik,” you said, looking up at him, pleading, “it was the song I’ve always longed to hear from you.”

There was a change in the atmosphere as soon as you said it. Like electricity buzzing in the air. He towered over you, tall and alluring and commanding. “_Is that so_?” he whispered, his voice dark and deep, lips forming a playful smirk.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, mouth suddenly dry as you realized that your fantasies were so close to coming alive.

“Yes,” you whispered back.

And suddenly, he was closing the gap between you, rushing to you and taking you into his arms. You kissed him passionately, exploring his mouth with your lips and teeth and tongue. The more of him you taste, the more you crave. He growled into your mouth and you shiver at the pleasant vibrations.

As he tightens his hold on you and lifts you, you wrap your legs around his waist instinctively. As if this was how it was always meant to be, as if his tall, lithe form always belonged between your legs.

His hold was gentle yet deceptively forceful, a man wanting to make up for a lifetime devoid of touch. The hunger in his eyes was unmistakable as he pinned you to the bed and lifted the skirts of your dress. You flushed as he traced his fingers from your inner thighs to the slit in your bloomers, teasing the outer lips of your sex.

“So wet for me already, my Christine. I never would’ve thought… I never expected…” he started saying.

You quiet his worries with another kiss. “I didn’t think you wanted me either.”

With a low groan, he pulls away from the kiss and lowers his face to the apex of your thighs. And soon you feel his tongue inside you, exploring you. It was like music again, reverberating deep within you. You can’t stop your hips from bucking against him, moving in time with his rhythm.

His thin, ragged, misshapen lips somehow added to the pleasure of his kiss. And you found yourself fisting at his hair, begging him to continue licking at the delicate flesh of your womanhood.

Soon, you feel him pulling away again and you cannot stop the frustrated sound that escapes your lips. You open your eyes and see him smirking.

Lowering your gaze, you watch as he palms at the increasing tightness in his trousers. With a cheeky grin, you reach your hand out and help him release his hardness from its confines.

For a time, he simply gazes at you, as if waiting for you to ask him to stop. Instead, you grasped him harder, pulling the silk of his skin up and watching as a small pearl of fluid seeped from his tip. A low, gravelly rumble issues from his chest and you had never heard anything more erotic in your entire life.

You guide him to your entrance, and both of you gasp as flesh finally met flesh.

He moved within you as though he were composing a new melody, slow and unsure at first, playing by ear. Every gasp and moan and sigh, every beautiful erotic noise from you emboldens him to continue, thrusting deeper and harder each time.

You feel the pressure within you steadily rising, building, _climbing_ to a beautiful climax.

You give in to the sensations, letting the ecstasy wash over you like a tidal wave. The music—sweet, magnificent music—is everywhere now, brimming from your body in a composition of swelling arpeggios and loud crescendos.

His breathing was becoming more ragged and you can tell that he’s nearing his peak. You nip at his neck, tongue swirling against his throat, and grin in satisfaction as he speaks your name over and over like a prayer.

You both fall back to earth, laying next to each other as your erotic symphony comes to a close. He holds you tight and looks at you tenderly, a mix of awe and gratefulness in his eyes.

There is so much you want to say to him and yet you take solace in the comfortable silence, the satisfying decrescendo, that has surrounded you.

Instead, you take his hand and place it on your heart, letting him feel its slowly steadying beats. Though no words were exchanged, you both know…

Your longing has finally come to an end.


End file.
